


Erotic Friend Art

by FireLorde



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky Is Sexually Frustrated, Erotic Friend Art, Face-Fucking, Infinity War Didn’t Happen Because I Said So, It’s Lowkey Though, M/M, Metal Arm Kink, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Oral Fixation, PWP-ish, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn To Cope, Praise Kink, Steve Draws As A Hobby, Thottie Steve Rogers, Top Bucky Barnes, bear with me, bro jobs, chapstick, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 03:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14463996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireLorde/pseuds/FireLorde
Summary: God damn Bucky for finding Steve’s stash of self-drawn Captain America porn.





	Erotic Friend Art

**Author's Note:**

> originally, this fic was supposed to go up before i saw infinity war but that didn’t happen! so i guess i’ve got some bad timing on my hands. oops.
> 
> anyways, infinity war never happened in this fic and steve and bucky have a nice apartment in new york and they’re both retired and “just bros”.
> 
> this is my first-ever MCU fic so bear with me if it’s a bit rough eek!!

It started with the chapstick.

The winters that plagued Brooklyn were never short of drying, freezing, and cold-inducing. Lip-chapping was incredibly common, and even more deadly for Steve. He’d lay on the ratted-up couch, chewing, licking, pressing, sucking, _doting_ on his broken, chapped lips for what seemed like hours. That never made anything better, though, the sting of torn, sensitive skin still burned him. And _god_ , did he wonder how Bucky’s lips stayed so soft.

They were butter-smooth, gentle, and just the right shade of pink. Where Steve’s lips were a deeper reddish color, Bucky’s fit the range between pink and flesh just perfectly. The arch of his cupid’s bow was just too fluid not to draw, and for several weeks, Steve found the pages of his sketchbook filled with lips. Buck’s lips. Those soft, warm lips that somehow managed not to shrink away in disgust at the cracked flakiness of Steve’s mouth. Steve didn’t know why Buck didn’t stop kissing him. Casual kisses, that’s what they were, purely platonic; casual kisses on dehydrated lips. The jaggedness and crackedness disgusted him– why not Buck?

And even 70 years later, a few vials of serum later, a lifetime later, those chapped lips still plagued the Captain. They weren’t nearly as bad as they were back in 1941, but hell, they were still uncomfortable to deal with, and that goddamned chapstick in Steve’s jacket pocket always seemed to become lost, lodged in a fold of the sateeny fabric whenever Steve needed it.  
But not today.

It was right where Steve needed it, between his thumb and forefinger, with the cap off. The mid-January air was hitting his lips pretty badly, making them redder and rawer than usual.

And there Bucky was, right where Steve needed him, watching him apply that damn round-headed chapstick to his full lips.

“Serum didn’t take care of your lips, huh?” Bucky looked up from scrolling through his tablet, catching Steve smearing the first layer of balm onto his mouth.

“Unfortunately. Hurts like a B,” Steve nodded, kicking his legs up and crossing them. He sighed and smacked his lips together, oblivious to the thought process running through Bucky’s mind.

Those lips were gorgeous, even when chapped. They looked kissable. Too kissable. Buck couldn’t help but stare. He wanted to watch his fingers– his metal fingers– breach them, feel them press against Steve’s tongue, see Steve’s perfect lips close around them and let Steve suck on them, lick between them, let his tongue lave over them like they were alive, sweet, _hot_.

“You’re still not swearing, huh?” Amusement made its way into Bucky’s face, and the darker part of his mind wondered if he could make Steve swear in a different context.

“Not when I can help it.”

The smack of Steve’s lips together made Bucky involuntarily shift positions. God damn. Was it too late to admit to having an oral fixation on whatever was in Steve’s mouth? Probably not.

Steve reached over the arm of the couch for his sketchbook, flipping to the newest clean page and starting to draw something out. It was a base, a skeleton, a preliminary sketch, but there were still pauses where Steve would deliberate over the proportions or the anatomy of the subject he was drawing. In these pauses, however, he raised his pencil to his lips and let it sit there, occasionally sucking absentmindedly on the tip of the eraser. That was what drove Buck crazy, what made him fidget in his chair once more. Steve’s lips around that long object, the shine of the balm making them seem extra moist and wet and heavenly.

“Having trouble findin’ inspiration for your sketches?” Again, Bucky broke the silence, earning a nod from Steve.

“Dunno what I’m supposed to be drawing,” Steve pursed his lips, nibbling the eraser once more. And fuck if Bucky knew why that was so hot. He felt his stomach burn, clench, and twist all at the same time, and finally, unable to control himself any longer, he dropped his tablet on the small, lamp-lit reading desk to his left, ignoring the loud slam of flat metal on wood.

“Jesus Christ, Buck, what was that for?” Steve nearly jumped out of his chair, his pencil falling between the crook of the two open pages against his lap and the firmness of his stomach. He closed the cover of his sketchbook, threading his pencil through a side-loop and setting it on the arm of the couch.

“Nothin’,” Bucky lied, noticing just then that he was standing a few feet from Steve, looking down at the pages strewn out over his lap.

The curve of a strong chest lived on the soft paper of one of Steve’s sketchpads; it was armless, a David of sorts. Another page boasted a man’s back, complete with a steely metal arm reaching up to take out a ponytail holder brimming with dark, long hair. Another showed the face and chest of who Bucky assumed to be the same man, his bust strong and proud and shining. Though preliminary, the facial features on the sketched man gave away too much of the identity of the figure for Steve to make up a convincing lie.

“Hey,” Steve snorted, covering the spare pages with his brown-leather sketchbook, “no peeking at my work. You know I get self-conscious.”

Buck raised an eyebrow, trying to tilt his head to the side and reaching forward to slide the closed book over.  
“Steve, you’re drawin’ me. I know that’s me. You can’t stick a metal arm and long hair up in a bun on any regular guy and say it’s not me. I’ve got the scar on my chest and everything, jesus, Steve.”

There Steve went with that lip-chewing again, his nerves obviously getting the better of him. He didn’t dare speak– this two-hundred pound muscle man shook like a rain-drenched chihuahua facing a grizzly bear.  
“Uh… Maybe. I mean, it’s just a sketch, a doodle, it’s up to interpretation, by, uh, you know.”

“Interpretation? I’m interpretin’ that as a crush, Rogers.”  
Steve opened his mouth to speak in protest, but whatever sound he may have tried to make came out as a weak crackling noise, and he traded any more vocalization for a sigh, standing up. For how lost in his own world he was, he didn’t even seem to register the loose pages of his sketchpad falling onto the floor, blanketing the rug and the hardwood in a sort-of beautiful mess.

“More where that came from, huh?” Bucky took a step toward the pile, crouching down and picking up a messily-charcoaled sketch of someone who appeared to be Nat.

And Steve, still frozen in embarrassment, clutched the side of his armchair for fear that he might pass out.  
“Don’t look at those,” he choked out, his face bright red and his eyes wide open.

Bucky chuckled, picking up a half-finished watercolor of a bust of Sam and running his fingers along the semi-torn edges of the paper.

“Why not? They’re beautiful. You should hang ‘em in a museum,” he murmured, picking up a manila folder with a few sheets sticking out of the side.

“Buck, I’m serious, don’t look at those. Especially those,” Steve begged, wanting to reach out and knock the folder out of Bucky’s hands, though he only felt his palms shake more.

“Stevie, I want you to give me one good reason why I shouldn’t look at your art. It’s so effortless, an’ you make everyone look so good when you draw ‘em, and you’re so talented, I’m in aw–“ Bucky stopped short in the middle of his sentence, his flesh fingers pinching a drawing between them. His breath seemed to catch in his throat, and his eyes studied the page more, the small ticks of pencil enrapturing him and the long strokes of charcoal and oil-pastel wrapping him up in all his awe.  
”Holy fuck,” he breathed. There, right before his eyes, was a “self-portrait” of Steve from the back, butt-naked, holding what appeared to be his shield over his shoulder.  
“Steven.”

The man himself didn’t dare to move, to breathe, to speak. Bucky was looking through the wrong folder if he wanted to have any chance of discarding his tense, sexual feelings for Steve. There were rough-outs of Steve on his knees, Steve in lingerie, Steve fully nude, with each one signed and dated by the artist. The most evocative, however, made Bucky want to pin the man to the ground and fuck him into Earth's core. It was a half-colored drawing of Steve splayed out on a bed, his eyes glassed over and his legs spread wide. His cheeks were flushed with a gentle pink watercolor, his fair hair still perfect and golden as ever. Bucky had thought he’d seen masterpieces in museums before, he was vaguely certain that this eclipsed any and all of them. The piece de resistance, however, was the flesh hand spread over his right pectoral, and the metal hand cupping his chin, with two of its fingers in his mouth, parting a pair of plush, rose-petal lips. That same twist was back in Bucky’s stomach, and before looking back up at Steve, he cleared his throat.

“How long you been drawin’ erotic friend-art, Stevie?”  
Steve felt his mouth go dry. God damn Bucky for finding his stash of Captain America porn.

“It’s not what you think–“

Bucky raised his hand– his metal hand– to silence Steve, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

“Who else do you know with a metal arm?”

He set the sketch on the rug next to them, scanning the drawing beneath it almost too analytically. It featured Steve taking it from behind, his super-suit still on, with a metal hand in his hair, seemingly tugging it back. The next drawing was that same metal hand curled around his neck, with his eyes glazed over in pure pleasure. The drawing after that had Bucky sitting in a chair of some sort, with his metal hand in Steve’s hair, Steve on his knees, facing away from the perspective of the artist, with his head dangerously close to Bucky’s groin.

“You been drawin’ yourself all slutty, huh? Makin’ art of you givin’ me suckjobs?”

Steve shook his head at first, but nodded, realizing it’d be useless to pretend like the men in the drawings weren’t all Buck.

“Yeah,” Steve said, rather quietly. He sank to his knees and started to pick up the drawings littered all over the room, packing them together, but not daring to touch the erotic ones near Bucky. Steve couldn’t. After all, some part of him had wanted Buck to find them, to look through them, and to fulfill each desire drawn out on paper.

“Damn, I didn’t even know that was a physically possible position to fuck in,” Buck whistled, raising his eyebrows at a particularly smutty drawing. He looked over at Steve, rising up to stand again, and found that they were both in very compromising positions.

“You’re kidding,” he muttered, flipping back to the picture of Steve on his knees, “did you plan this or some shit? You tryin’ to get laid?”

“No! No, that’s not it at all, I just…” Steve waved his hands as he spoke, almost defensively, his eyes still wide. He looked up at Bucky, and god, he almost choked on his own tongue.

Steve was on his knees.

Bucky was standing, not two feet away, with his arms folded, looking pretty damn domineering.

The tension in the air hung so thick it could be cleaved.

“I don’t have a problem with you acting out your fantasies on me, Stevie.”

Steve felt his mouth run dry, and instinctively bit his lip, looking anywhere but into Bucky’s eyes. There was no way he could stop himself now. He’d already fallen off the deep end.

He looked right at Bucky, facing his foremost fear in that moment, and watched as Buck walked over to him, now about a half a foot from him. That was too close for Steve to handle.

“You’re really just gonna stand there and keep lookin’ up at me like I’m gonna suck myself off, huh?”

Steve could hear the impatience in Bucky’s voice, and he let out a small noise from the very back of his throat, idly fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Christ on a cracker, he was _Captain America_. He’d been through hell and beyond, and survived to tell about it, but for some odd reason, he couldn’t man up and reach for the worn zipper on Bucky’s jeans. He anxiously bit at the corners of his moistened lips, reaching one hand up to grasp Bucky’s thigh. And _Jesus Christ_ , that was one sturdy thigh.

“Steve. You’re actin’ like you’ve never done this before.”  
In a way, Buck was right. He’d never given a blowjob in his life– he’d only seen it done in pornography. As far as his sexual knowledge had gone, he’d shared chaste, platonic kisses with Bucky on the regular, with only one kiss seemingly reflecting feelings of the need to be more than friends, all the way back in 1943. Steve had tried to get off after coming out of the ice, but nothing quite scratched his itch– well, nothing like this.

“I haven’t,” he murmured, watching as Bucky reached for the top button of his jeans. The soft tink of metal fingers against the button brought him back to reality, and without realizing, he instinctively took Bucky’s metal wrist in his hands, looking up at him with a mixture of lust and confusion.

“Go ahead.”

Bucky uncurled his fingers, brushing his metal thumb against Steve’s bottom lip.

“S’nice and slick with that lip balm on, Stevie. Could slide right in. You’re eyein’ my fingers like you want ‘em in your mouth, do you want that, doll?”

Steve nodded, feeling over the palm of Bucky’s hand and taking the tip of his thumb into his mouth. He closed his eyes, savoring the slightly-tangy taste of cherry chapstick and metal. Taking his sweet time, Steve barely opened his mouth, keeping his eyes shut as Bucky let his thumb slide back over his tongue.

“More,” Steve managed, closing his mouth and sucking rather obscenely at the thumb inside it.

Bucky obliged him, trading his thumb for both of his forefingers. Steve didn’t budge as he felt them against his lips, and opened his eyes only to see where his lips landed as he kissed the cool metal, tipping his head back and letting Buck push past his lips.

“Bet you wish you could have somethin’ else in your mouth, huh?”

Steve pulled off Bucky’s fingers, licking his lips free of the metallic taste.

“That’s dirty, Buck.”

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t say to stop.”

Steve raised an eyebrow and took Bucky’s fingers back into his mouth, shifting his hips against the carpet.

“So, you want me to tell you how much I want your lips on me right now? How I’ve been lookin’ at you and watchin’ you mess with your lips and bite the ends of your pencils and dreamin’ about fuckin’ your mouth?” Bucky watched as Steve set one of his hands over his crotch and the other one on the floor, spreading it out and grinding pathetically into the ground. He slid a third metal finger in, holding Steve’s mouth open for a moment before sliding them back and letting Steve’s tongue work its magic. Again, Steve pulled off, pouting his lip.

“Then do it,” he said, somewhat matter-of-factly, “I’ll suck you off, Buck. No bones about it. You saw my art. You know what I want.”

That alone was enough to make Buck sigh in frustration and finish unzipping his pants. He pet some of Steve’s hair out of his eyes and cupped his cheek, feeling the heat of his cheeks against his flesh hand.

“I wanna go at a pace that’s good for you, though. Don’t wanna hurt you or make you feel forced, you know what I’m saying?” Bucky watched Steve nod and gave him a sweet smile, pressing his lips together.

“Yeah, I know,” Steve smiled, running his fingers over the strained fabric of Buck’s underwear, “I’ll just slap your ass or something if it’s too much.”

At that, Bucky laughed.

“Sure, why not? I’ll get the memo for sure.”

Steve had that stupid, adorable smile on his face once more, and with some hesitation, he helped Bucky out of his boxers, bringing any and all fabric on the bottom half of his body to the floor. He raised a hand to try and reach for his cock, but stopped, frozen.

“Something wrong?”

Bucky wiped his metal fingers on the bottom of his shirt, plucking Steve’s hand from the air and curling it around his length.

“Seriously, doll, you could sneeze on my dick and I’d come. You don’t know how long I’ve been wantin’ this.”  
Taking a deep breath, Steve let his lips meet Buck’s cock, gently kissing the tip a few times before experimentally swiping over the underside. As he became more comfortable with the sensation of a dick in his mouth, Steve took longer licks and sucks, slowly opening his eyes and trying his hardest to maintain eye contact with Buck. Blinking, Steve flicked his wrist, pulling off the tip of his cock with a filthy pop.

“ _Christ_ , Stevie,” Bucky breathed, ruffling his hair, “More.”  
Nodding, Steve pressed his lips back against the head of his dick, opening his mouth and letting it slide back almost as easily as Bucky’s metal fingers had moved– well, the fingers hadn’t quite hit his throat, which was a new sensation that made Steve splutter and gasp a bit.  
“You okay? You’re good at this for someone who claims to be so inexperienced.”

“ _Mmhm_ ,” Steve nodded, letting Bucky’s cock re-enter the back of his throat. He didn’t react as much– the feeling was less foreign, more _hot_. Watching Buck react made something burn in his gut, and in the heat of the moment, Steve took almost half of Bucky’s cock down his throat without blinking.

“Steven–“ Bucky started, meeting Steve’s eyes and reading the glassy lust in them like an open book.  
“Mother _fucker_ , Steve, you’re bein’ so good, pretty boy. So fuckin’ pretty on your knees like that. I hope you don’t have too bad of a gag reflex,” he groaned, “‘cause I wanna fuck your mouth now.”

Steve made a noise of agreement and consent, trying to call on his porn experience and relax his jaw as much as possible. In his mind, though, he reveled in the feeling of Bucky taking control, holding his hair, calling him _good_ and _pretty_ and _his_.

“Good boy,” Bucky growled out through gritted teeth, tugging Steve’s hair closer to him.

“You good like this? God, if you could see yourself right now. You look like a piece of fuckin’ art, Stevie, so fuckin’ gorgeous and all mine.”

Steve choked out a moan, looking up at Bucky with tear-filled eyes. He whimpered happily around the cock in his mouth, pulling off and pushing himself back on. From Bucky’s perspective, Steve was absolutely destroying him. Every flick of his tongue or slide of his lips ruined him. And if he wasn’t close before, he sure as hell was close now.

“Keep that up and I’m gonna come, doll, _fuck_ ,” he breathed, clenching his jaw and absentmindedly thrusting into Steve’s mouth.

“In my mouth,” Steve whimpered, “I want it in my mouth.”  
Bucky’s forehead was peppered with sweat, and he let out a soft groan as he kept up the movement of his hips into Steve’s mouth. His hair hung low in his face, shadowing his light blue eyes even further.

And from Steve’s perspective, Bucky was everything he wanted and more.

“You sure you can take it?”  
Steve nodded, letting the flat of his tongue lave over the underside of his cock like the tease he was. He dropped his jaw and let Bucky push back into his mouth like a pro, only choking a bit as he felt the tip of his cock push against the back of his throat in a strange way. Running his hands over the backs of Bucky’s thighs, Steve let Bucky grasp his hair once more, holding his head firmly as he thrust into his mouth.

“Wonder what people’d say if they could see you now. Cap takin’ a dick down his throat like a goddamn whore. You’re bein’ so good, keep it right there, Stevie, fuck, _Stevie_.”

In that moment, Steve popped off Bucky’s cock and licked a small mass of precum off the bottom of his lip– an action that would have made Bucky come all over Steve’s face, had it not been for his steady hand. He guided Steve’s mouth back onto him and stroked his cheek as he fucked into his mouth, riding the rest of his orgasm out between dirty expletives and “Stevie”s.  
Steve had never swallowed before. Hell, he’d never even had a dick in his mouth before, so he was back to relying on his somewhat limited knowledge of porn. Just barely, Steve choked on Bucky’s cock as he came, feeling something akin to his jaw unhinging as he tried to swallow and not let his teeth touch any part of Bucky. Porn had always made swallowing seem so glamorous, but if he was being honest, Steve thought it was a pain in the ass– but still, it was Bucky. He’d wanted this for years, and if Buck’s cock was halfway down his throat, he’d swallow for him. As he took his last few swallows, he let out a sigh, covering his mouth with a hand.

“Great. Now my breath smells like… you know.”  
A soft, sleepy smile made its way into Bucky’s face, and he ran his metal fingers through Steve’s hair, using his other hand to start to pull up his pants and tuck himself back in.

“Oh, trust me, I know. Can smell it from here, punk.”  
Steve’s cheeks flushed bright pink, and he laughed, high and sweet, for no other reason than the fact that Buck was there, with him, touching him, even after they’d been so intimate. What could Steve say for himself? They certainly weren’t just friends after that.  
“Uh, Buck? You wanna tell me what we are now?”  
Bucky squinted, plopping down on the adjacent couch and kicking his legs up.

“Huh?”

“Like, what we are. ‘Cause we’re not “just friends” anymore. We can’t be. I just gave you a suckjob on the living room floor,” Steve reached for his chapstick, a gentle smile on his face. He took a big sip of water from a nearby bottle and reapplied the cherry balm to his slightly-stinging lips.

“Well, Stevie, if I had to say, we stopped being “just friends” the moment you started drawin’ erotica of us.”

**Author's Note:**

> send me more anon hate @ liferuiner63 on tumblr. or talk hcs to me. either one is good.
> 
> if you want a sequel to this or for me to crank out some more stevebuckies hit that kudos!


End file.
